First Comes Desire. Tina Donahue

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      Tristan longed to ask for particulars but guessed she wouldn’t answer a pirate she wanted hanged. With her, he wanted to comfort. A woman’s distress was never a small matter. “No need to worry. Peter’s task won’t put him at risk.”

      “To whose way of thinking, yours or those in the civilized world?”

      “Everyone’s. I’m fully aware he’s not yet a man and requires protection.”

      She opened her mouth and closed it, cheeks flushing.

      Good. He’d won their first battle. Threats moved men. Women needed civilized behavior and a kind word to bring them to a man’s side. He wanted her at his, so he could teach her what pleased him. There would be much she’d learn and enjoy.

      Heat pooled in his groin.

      She stepped back and gestured to the man who stood next to the still-moaning Montgomery. “Reeves, restrain the captain.”

      Tristan stood. Her men lifted their blades to his chest. “What’s the meaning of this? I’ve done you no harm. Stay where you are.” He pointed at Reeves, who’d edged closer, then turned back to her. “Hear this, Miss Fletcher. No matter what transpires, I’ll never do you harm.”

      Firelight danced over her milky complexion. Her eyes reflected the flames.

      Enticed further, he held up his hands. “Call off your men. You’re safe here. So is Peter. No one’s hurt him.”

      She stiffened. “No one? Not even you, especially you? How can you say such a thing? You abducted him.”

      “No.”

      She advanced a step. “You’ll hang. I’ll see you hang.”

      Not likely. He had other plans for them and kept his peace.

      * * * *

      Tristan’s composure rattled Diana, his demeanor at odds with what she’d heard about him being a ruthless pirate. For nearly a year, she’d pursued him. Upon capture, she’d expected him to curse her and struggle fruitlessly against her men while she watched with great satisfaction. Instead, he’d smiled. He also seemed to care about Peter.

      Impossible. No matter Tristan’s dignified manner or him claiming innocence, he was still a pirate, Welsh in the bargain, and strangely enough, liked to read. His book lay forgotten on the sand, its title embossed in gold on the cover. Homer’s Iliad, a classic far above what common folks would enjoy.

      Her confusion grew. He was more than he should be, as tall and athletic as a young noble, clean too, hair and face washed, his crimson waistcoat, dark breeches, and white shirt well cared for. Moist wind separated the linen to bare his muscular chest. Perspiration glistened within those crisp curls. They begged for a woman’s touch, and later him pleasuring and protecting her in his strong embrace.

      Something stirred within Diana. She pushed her foolish reaction away and met him eye-to-eye, wanting to see the devil.

      He waited patiently for her next move, searching her gaze, puzzling her further.

      He was an undeniably handsome man. Blond hair fell in thick waves over his forehead, and curled around his ears and on his neck. Firelight turned his bronze skin a deeper gold. Only his eyebrows were dark, same as the stubble on his upper lip, chin, and cheeks.

      He smiled softly.

      Her belly clenched. She needed him to be afraid, not playful or aroused, to know the suffering he’d caused. When he’d taken the merchant ship Peter served on, he’d nearly ruined her brother’s life and surely destroyed hers. It was heartache enough to have Peter foolishly run away to sea as if it were a game. Tristan’s actions had forced Peter into piracy and put the child at even greater risk. Boys younger than him had gone to the gallows for crimes that were serious or not.

      Helpless with outrage, she lifted her hand to strike Tristan.

      He didn’t curse or try to defend himself from her coming blow.

      Unsettled, she lowered her hand. “Go on. I know you want to strike me, so why haven’t you? Are you afraid what my men will do?”

      “As they’re armed and I’m not, taking caution merely shows good sense. But might I also remind you, Miss Fletcher, I wasn’t the one with the raised hand.”

      Her cheeks burned. “A necessary defense against the likes of you.”

      He sighed loudly. “Yes, the likes of me. I’m nothing in your eyes. You’ve made yourself quite clear. However, before you take to insulting other men in this part of the world, ones who are far less understanding than I, and those who wouldn’t hesitate to treat you quite brutally, it’s best you remember words have power. They should be used with great care.”

      She opened her mouth but found no acceptable retort, the same as when her father had been alive. To him, she’d always been wrong and expected to apologize, beg his forgiveness. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d do so with Tristan. She hardly forgot what he’d done to Peter and who waited for her at her journey’s end.

      Benedict Bishop made her physically ill. He was twice her age, her father’s friend. In return for Bishop’s ship and crew, she’d pledged her flesh to him. Once she arrived in Mozambique, she’d share his bed without marriage or the decency any woman deserved. A living hell she’d endure when they arrived in England. One made possible by Tristan.

      Her outrage flared. “What’s the real problem, Captain? Not man enough to stand the truth?”

      He bowed his head slightly. “Your truth is flawed, which compels me to prefer your hand. Go on. Do your worst.”

      Her skin stung, but she wouldn’t back down. “Very well.” She brought her hand to his cheek to strike him, but couldn’t, and delivered a gentle caress instead.

      Her men mumbled to each other.

      Tristan looked at her questioningly.

      He above all should have known seduction was a woman’s greatest weapon, forcing men to their knees, even one as alluring and confident as him. His skin was warmer than she’d expected, his stubble oddly exciting in how it bit her palm. She enjoyed touching him, until she recalled he was no more than a murderous pirate.

      Tristan parted his lips.

      Before he could speak and surely lie, she stroked his bottom lip, heated and achingly soft, the same as how he treated her. For now. And only because her men offered protection. If she and Tristan had been alone, Diana sensed he would have demanded her mouth and used her as he pleased. Just as he’d abducted Peter without giving the boy a voice in the matter. No more.

      She raked Tristan’s cheek, wanting him to feel the pain he’d caused her, relishing his coming shout and oaths.

      He kept his tongue.

      Furious, she dug deeper.

      He didn’t even blink.

      “Damn you.” She ached to pummel him, to make him bellow. “I want you to hurt.”

      “As СКАЧАТЬ